Marcia Clark - The Competition

Even before seeing him, I’d had my doubts, though I’d squashed them down with hope. Nothing fit. The MO was all wrong. Spader stood right in the middle of the store and fired around himself. He had no physical advantage at all, other than surprise. In fact, it was a miracle he hadn’t been taken down right then and there. This wasn’t the “fish in a barrel” scenario our shrinks had said these shooters go for. Spader hadn’t used an assault rifle, and he hadn’t dropped any weapons at the scene.

The truth was, Spader’s meth-addled brain had obscured the line between fantasy and reality. He’d had some warped dream about being one of the Fairmont shooters, and in the throes of his speedy high, he’d made it come true. He was just a copycat. He was good for the Target shooting, but nothing more.

It only took a few phone calls to verify Spader’s alibi. He was not our guy.

We headed backdowntown. “What’s up with Evan?” I asked. “It’s been long enough for him to hear that Logan’s dead.”

“Yeah,” Bailey said. “He should’ve surfaced by now. And if he hasn’t heard about Logan, something’s really wrong.”

What we didn’t say out loud: Evan knew who the second shooter was-and the second shooter knew it too. I pictured Evan’s body at the bottom of a ravine, or in a Dumpster, or lying in a shallow grave in the hills of Griffith Park. “And his cell phone’s still off?”

“Yeah. I get that he didn’t want us to be able to track him at first, but now…”

“Right,” I said. “You’ve put out enough manpower to find Hoffa’s body. So now what?”

“The only thing left to do is dig into his past, see if there’s someplace or someone he could’ve run to. I had a uni get a list of his past addresses and schools from the parents. The report should be waiting for us when we get back.”

“We haven’t had any luck on whoever mailed the letters in Boulder yet, right?”

“No, but it could still happen.” She sighed.

Luck hadn’t been our strong suit lately.

When we got back to the station, we found Harrellson with his feet up on Bailey’s desk, talking on his cell. Given his size, that was a fairly acrobatic move. Bailey pointed to his shoes. “Get those things off.” She looked at me. “What is it with men and my desk lately?”

Harrellson ended his call and reluctantly dropped his feet. “This is the thanks I get for doing your dirty work?”

“What dirty work?” Bailey asked.

“A uni dropped off the list of past home addresses and schools from Evan’s parents. I took it upon myself to get the phone numbers of principals and counselors.” He handed Bailey a stapled batch of pages. “You’re welcome. And yes, I am a gem.”

Bailey handed back half of the printouts. “Okay, Ruby, you want to earn my undying gratitude, why don’t you help us make the calls?”

“Ruby. Bullshit. This here”-he gestured to his bulk-“diamond, baby. Several carats, set in platinum.” He took the pages back from Bailey. “I’ll make two copies so Ms. Daisy over here can join in the fun.”

I glared at him. “It’s not my fault. She won’t let me drive.”

Harrellson raised an eyebrow. “Not what she says, but whatever.” He hefted himself out of the chair and trundled out to make the copies.

I pulled up a chair next to Bailey’s desk. “What are we looking for? Names of friends? Connections to Boulder? To Utah? What?”

“All of the above. And of course, if you come up with any link to our second shooter along the way, that’d be nice-”

“And how do I go about getting all that stuff?”

“I don’t know. Fish around.”

I looked at Bailey. “Fish around? That’s your plan?”

“You got a better one?”

“Be hard to do worse.”

“Then let’s hear it.”

The truth was, I hadn’t had anything like a plan, but in that moment, something did occur to me. A way to get at the second shooter. “Get someone to check out where there were gun shows that Logan and the second shooter could have gotten to. If they had another source besides Jax, it most likely came from someone at a place like that. And that’s who the second shooter might go back to now.”

Since Logan wasn’t eighteen, he couldn’t have legally scored a gun on his own. If the second shooter was in the same boat, his options were similarly limited. But security at gun shows was notoriously lax. If Logan and his buddy had scored at a gun show, that seller might be the second shooter’s other connection.

“Not bad. I’ll get someone on it.” Bailey picked up her phone. “Nice, the way you pulled that one out of your ass at the last minute.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. I thought of that, like…yesterday.”

Bailey gave me a look and sat down at her computer.

Harrellson came back with the copies. “The list goes back to elementary school,” he said. “First grade, I think.”

We got down to work.

Evan had moved around even more than we’d originally thought. Before Texas, his family had lived in New Mexico, Wyoming, Louisiana, and Arizona. This little fishing expedition was turning into a global sea hunt.

Harrellson scanned the list and blew out a breath. “Damn, this is crazy. Tell you what. You take New Mexico and Texas. Since those were his last addresses before he moved here, they’re the most likely to pan out. I’ll take the rest.”

I nodded toward Bailey, who was on the phone. “Her Nibs over there can do some too.”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. The minute she’s off that phone, she’ll take Wyoming and Arizona.”

“I notice you’re keeping Louisiana.”

“Because even over the phone I can smell the gumbo.”

The principal of Evan’s high school in New Mexico was a sweetheart. I explained about Evan having run away. “Oh, that poor dear. He must be terrified. How can I help?”

I decided that while I was hunting for Evan, I’d ask about any kids he hung out with who might’ve moved to California-someone who might be our second shooter. I asked the principal for a list of kids who’d transferred out of the school during the year Evan was there, and for six months after that. “And if you could also tell me whether any of them had been in Evan’s classes, that would be a big help.”

“That should be easy enough. Can you hang on a sec?”

“Sure.”

In less than two minutes she was back. “I had a feeling. There were no transfers during that time frame. We’re a pretty stable population here.”

Damn. I asked if there was any indication of who his friends were, what clubs he might’ve joined. Nothing. I thanked the principal and moved on to the high school in Lubbock, Texas.

The principal there recommended I talk to Evan’s counselor, a Mr. Greg Kingsley. Greg was more than happy to help, but his drawl was so heavy it was like listening to a foreign language. “Can you find out whether any of the students who were in school with Evan transferred out-say within six months after he left?”

“Yeah, but it’ll take me a bit. You don’t mind hangin’ on?”

I heard computer keys being tapped as Greg hummed to himself softly. “Oh, yeah, I plum forgot about that. Evan did get into a bit of trouble. Nothin’ big, mind you, but I s’pose that’s what bein’ a teenager’s for.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Just a bit of petty stealin’, from what I recall. But you folks probably have more access to that information than I do.”

“Was it out there in Lubbock?”

“Yeah. Evan and a couple other boys stole a cell phone out of a truck parked alongside the road. From what I remembah, they all got probation and had to do some community service. Freeway cleanup? Somethin’ like that.”